


The Last Heir

by bhisha



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhisha/pseuds/bhisha
Summary: Melisande Mercierre was prepared to live a comfortable life of nobility and privilege, until her father's dark plans put her in the path of the Oblivion Crisis.





	The Last Heir

Melisande Mercierre, whom had recently celebrated her twentieth birthday, perched upon the front step to her father's manor like a preening hen. Her ivory skin was pale but radiant, being protected by the beating Heartland sun with shawls and parasols alike. Two large golden eyes peered from behind inky eyelashes. Her face, demure of expression, was heavy and bold.

Melisande's adoptive father, Henri Mercierre, was a stout man of about sixty. His voice was loud and booming, but his words were eloquent and subtle. Melisande despised how the aristocratic people of the Imperial City would dance around with their words, hinting and gently suggesting but never telling. Melisande spoke plainly and frankly, with an understanding of etiquette and tact but a blatant disregard of them. She was expected to nod and obey, to agree carelessly with whatever was said to seem simple and sweet, as any noble young woman was. Melisande ardently ignored such expectations. She never had interest in the girls of the city, as they were more invested in tea parties and dress up and other silly things. Melisande was not precious or delicate; she could throw a rock or climb a tree as well as any boy.

"Melisande Henrietta Mercierre!" A sharp Khajiit voice hissed from behind. Melisande turned her head nonchalantly. "I have waited and waited-- she will become a fine young lady, I told myself, but here you are with your good smock covered in dust and mud!"

"If you're waiting for me to become a lady, you're going to be waiting some time yet, Nan." Melisande retorted defiantly. Nan scowled, her broad face contorted with scorn. “You are too brash, Melisande. You have the face of a sweet girl and the heart of a rebellious boy.”

“It’d be just as well if I was born a boy, then I wouldn’t have old peahens like you scolding me like this.”

“Melisande Henrietta Mercierre,” Nan began, for she always recited Melisande’s full name when she was angered.

“If you care about the reputation of the Mercierre family--I know I do--then you’ll start acting your part.”

“It’s just that. Acting. I refuse to pretend to be something I’m not.” Melisande said gallantly, pushing out her chest.

“Your father will be home soon and I won’t allow him to see you roughed up like this. Come inside _now_.”

Melisande’s face grew hot with anger. If there was anything she hated more than the pompous Imperial toff, it was being forced to do something.

"You can drag my cold dead body inside, and that's if you can succeed in killing me." Would have been her usual response.

But she _always_ did what Nan asked, no matter how infuriating. So she stood up stiffly and stomped inside.

Nan, pleased at this small victory, helped Melisande into an evening dress. She hated dresses, but last time Nan caught her frolicking with her casteless playmates in dirty leather breeches, she nearly fainted dead right there.

Nan smoothed down Melisande's unruly platinum-coloured hair, coaxing the wild curls into a chignon which rested snugly against the back of her neck. Nan looked lovingly at the now clean and regal-looking Melisande.

"There you go! So darling and precious." Nan gushed. Melisande was used to being called these things, and being called them often. She was no longer flattered by it, for it was now obvious to her. She jerked her chin, not enjoying being fussed over any more, and departed to the foyer with a strutting arrogance to await her father's return.

She grabbed a book from one of the shelves that lined the walls of the foyer. She had read all of them by now, as her father had spent an unreasonable amount on hand made leather-bound books and manuscripts alike of which he had no intention of reading himself. She studied the books with little interest, keeping her pointed ears alert for sounds of her father's return.

But after an hour, he had not returned. Melisande wasn't worried, but annoyed. Her annoyance increased as another hour passed. Finally, after what seemed to her like an age, the clicking of hooves against stone filled her ears. She prepared herself to scold her father for being late, but stopped dead when she realised there was more than one horse.

"Nan!" Melisande called. "Has father brought his colleagues home tonight?"

"He did not inform me of anything, child." Nan said. "And he always does--"

Nan stopped dead when she peered outside the window.

"Save me Akatosh, Dibella, Talos, Kynareth..." She listed off the gods hastily, panic clear in her bristling fur.

"Nan! What is it?"

"Hide."

"What?"

"Do not be difficult! I said  _hide_!"

She scrambled behind a bookshelf, fear flaring up inside of her chest. Nan mustered up all the courage she could, and waited in front of the door. When the guards burst through, she stood her ground.

"Maid! Tell us where Melisande Mercierre is." Itius Hayn barked, pointing his sword square at Nan.

"She is not here."

"Then where?"

Melisande could stand it no longer. She refused to hide. She would face them and not back down.

"I am here! What do you want from me!" She shouted, bursting from her cover. "I have done nothing! If you try to imprison me I'll... I'll kill you!"

"Put her in irons. And kill the cat for lying to me." Hayn said grimly.

"Yessir."

Before she could protest, she watched them kill the elderly Khajiit she regarded as a mother. She struggled and screamed but the trained men easily overwhelmed her.

"I have done nothing! Where is my father!?" She wailed.

"Your father is a  _traitor_ and he is  _dead_. You will end up the same if you don't submit!"

Coldness struck her heart like lightning. Shock overwhelmed her to the point where she could make no noise.

"Now, throw her into a cell! I don't give a skeevers ass which one. Just get this bitch out of my sight."

They dragged the silent, limp Altmer away by her wrists and towards the Imperial prison.

 


End file.
